HGRHfan35 - Yeah, things are happening all over the place. I hope it's getting exciting for you. I'd hate for it to be confusing and such.
peonies01 - Yeah, for some reason the site wasn't sending notifications out that day. A lot of other author's mentioned it to me as well. Sorry about that, I did try giving notification on my tumblr page, but not everyone follows me there. Ah well, as Rick so eloquently put it 'shit happens'.
GG - That song is a classic. But the Patti LaBelle version, not this new stuff.
itsi3 - I agree. With Daryl in 'surgery' anything could be happening. :S
Merle's Right Hand - Merle is good at coming up with wonderful risque analogies, ain't he? Hehe. ^_^
Lilone1776 - Merle's a secret softie with big ol' squishy insides and a hard outer shell and I just want to hug him. HE'S SO FLUFFY!
Surplus Imagination - Yeah, the site was messed up that day. Sorry about that, not getting an alert is horrid (it's happened to me on this site before with a story I was following).
In case no one reads the replies above, I would like to mention before I get a billion comments about it, that the site didn't send out notifications about my last updated chapter. So if you haven't go read that first. My apologies for something I had no control over (I apologize because I'm Canadian, sorry about that). Also this is where I can weed out those who really read these AN's and who doesn't in the reviews. Ehehehe...
Chapter Eighty: Entraîneur
**Tyreese**
The Mall
It wasn't that he didn't mind the rain, hell he could sit and watch it with a warm body all he liked, but the fat, heavy sheets of rain that was pelting them wasn't so friendly.
Sticking close to Andrea, lest he lose her in the thick veil of grey that had fallen upon the area, he kept his eyes and ears tuned. They could literally run right into anything, heading in the rough direction where Alan had been positioned in a tree on lookout.
Christ, he wasn't even sure they were headed in the right direction; all he knew was that Alan was to the west of them, kitty-cat corner from their position across the parking lot.
Raising his rifle as he spied a grey form in the near distance and nudged Andrea with his elbow, pointing at it.
She nodded and raising her own gun, limped towards it, favouring her good leg heavily.
As the grey rain thinned in the distance between them and the figure, Tyreese spied a couple more lingering behind it and felt something made of ice and pure fear clutch his heart and squeeze.
He faltered, stepping back as Andrea continued on, distracted by the hunt.
Watching as she took a step further than him, he released a shaky breath and caught her by the upper arm, stopping her short using all his strength as several more figures appeared behind the already nearing forms.
The black shades in the rain shuffled towards them, unsure, heads bent back, rain pouring over decayed flesh.
The lone figure in the front was the first to notice them, yellow, diseased eyes peering at the intruders, chin tilting down towards the ground.
For one horrifying moment Tyreese caught the things eyes, but the acid gaze of the walker shifted to the ground, to the sky, then to them again.
They couldn't smell them! The walkers sense of smell was nearly obliterated by the massive amounts of fresh ozone in the air.
"Fuck," Andrea growled in surprise.
At the sound, five puckered, withered chins snapped level with the parking lot pavement at their feet and the half decayed creatures began lumbering towards the two.
It was then that Tyreese realized there wasn't only one walker, not a handful or several, but behind them more and more shades appeared in gradients of grey, an entire fucking army of the undead and a few of them had heard Andrea's utterance of surprise and were now very intent on figuring out the two forms who had appeared before them.
In the near dark, Tyreese staggered backwards, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he grabbed hold of Andrea and shoved her in a run back in the direction they had come from.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Father O'Rourke**
The Convent
He still wasn't entirely certain whether he was actually living in reality or if perhaps he had died and gone to some kind of hell he had made for himself.
Outside the walls of the convent were things that lurked in the deepest, darkest parts of a man's nightmare's, ready and willing to reach out and snatch the very heart from his chest and Father Henry O'Rourke really wasn't all that keen on hunting the beasts down.
He'd probably call it cowardice, though he liked to think he'd protect his home should the need arise, he still wouldn't place himself at the ranks of heroics the likes of which Rick Grimes or Daryl Dixon were placed by the others.
Which was why he was now making his way around the corner of the infirmary to check on the very same Dixon he had come to think of as one of the convent's sworn knights, because the man lay within the walls of the clinic wavering on the edge of life and death and the loss of such a good provider, such a stalwart warrior would surely usher about a new age for those left alive within the stone walls.
He nearly tripped over his own feet as he spied four living creatures on the ground before the doors of the infirmary, two knelt in prayer, two lying at their sides in wait, sheltered from the rain by the overhang of the infirmary roof.
For a moment he thought the worst had happened and that the Mother Superior or Grace rather, and her tiny ward were saying a prayer for the man's soul, but he realized that was a silly notion. The woman would be at the man's bedside saying the final benediction prayers, not huddled in front of the door.
Pulling himself to a neat stop, he eyed the woman for a moment, Annie peeking out from one eye at him, waving quickly, before going back to her prayers as solemn as a nun herself.
He had honestly thought Grace had given up all her faith, but it was good to see that while she had forgone her sacred vows, she hadn't completely stopped communicating with the Lord.
Kneeling quietly at Annie's side on the fairly dry cobblestones before the door, Father O'Rourke gave Grace one last, studying look, before clasping his own hands in prayer.
He prayed, not just for Daryl Dixon, but for the Lieutenant, for Annie to find peace with her memories, for Rick to calm his wounded soul, for Merle to finally find the goodness within him, for Carol to take a few minutes out of her near non-stop schedule for herself each day, for Beth, Glenn and Herschel to find peace with Maggie's passing, for Michonne to open her heart for those who deserved her trust, for Tyreese to find acceptance within the walls of the convent, for Sasha to finally prove to her older brother that she wasn't a delicate willow branch, for Alan to put his son and wife to rest within himself, for Carl to stop the nightmares he had of his mother's end, for Sister Mary Agnes to step forth as the strongest nun remaining in an effort to lead the sisters on the continued path of righteousness, for Sister Mary Claire and Sister Mary Elizabeth to remain devout and strong, for Sister Joan to aim true as she walked the wall. But most of all, he prayed for Judith to grow up never knowing firsthand the loss of any of the one's she loved, until God touched them with a natural, peaceful eternal rest and he prayed that their home within the walls would remain filled with hope and love and that the stone walls surrounding their home remained solid and strong until the End of Days came to its own bittersweet end.
It seemed like a lot to ask, and he wouldn't fault God for being busy at the moment with other's less fortunate than them, but he figured it couldn't hurt to pray.
If Grace could keep her faith during such a time, then he knew that God hadn't failed them. That they were under his watch and guidance. Maybe that was his intention in the first place, to keep his flock within the convent walls safe.
Having his final word with God, Father O'Rourke opened his eyes and found Annie had finished her prayers, Grace still quietly communicating with the Lord.
"I prayed for a little brother to climb trees with," Annie admitted softly. "And that Mr. Daryl would wake up and catch me a turkey for dinner."
The priest smiled at the young girl. "I thought the Lieutenant was after your turkey."
"He hasn't caught it yet," the girl admitted softly. "Mr. Daryl can catch anything, Carol said so."
"You mustn't lose faith, Annie. It's usually with faith that you find hope."
Annie furrowed her brow. "Can faith catch me a turkey?"
"Maybe, if you give the Lieutenant a little faith," he replied. "He might be inspired to finally nab the bird."
"But then it's really not faith catching the turkey, but the Lieutenant."
The priest wasn't sure what to say to that.
"I really want to eat turkey soon." The little girl whispered. "And I don't think the Lieutenant is coming home. My daddy didn't and they both promised they would."
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Carol**
Woodbury
They managed to get the Lieutenant sitting up, but he swayed and would have surely flopped right back onto his head, had she not been there to support him from behind.
Struggling to get him covered by the far too small flannel shirt they had given him, she helped Michonne and Karen as the women tried to get the poor man dressed a little more appropriately for the weather.
It was extremely difficult, what with the Lieutenant being as limp as a wet spaghetti noodle, his body ready to collapse whichever way was leaning closer to the pull of earth's gravity at the moment.
With glassy eyes, the Cajun craned his head around and eyed Carol quietly as she supported him, arms wound around his body delicately, but firmly, afraid of tearing his shoulder wound or his neck wound, afraid of causing his ribs anymore pain then they must have been giving him.
"J'ai fait ma meilleure tentative, Ange." He whispered softly, his voice sounding like the winds blowing dry sand across the desert. "Je suis désolé. Je suis si désolé."
"Come on, we have to get moving," Karen said. "The guards will be checking in soon and we haven't come up with a solid exit strategy yet."
Stroking the Lieutenant's dark hair off his sweaty forehead, Carol gave him a weak smile of encouragement. "We have to move, Lieutenant," she said. "Can you do that for me?"
He blinked at her.
The young man from Woodbury - Noah if she recalled correctly - stepped forward quickly with the Lieutenant's dog tags in hand. "Here," he offered, slipping them on over the man's head. "Before he forgets them."
Everyone tensed as the Lieutenant was helped off the clinic's exam table gently and he did well for a few seconds, before his knees buckled and he crumpled into Merle's arms, the good one clutching the front of the soldier's borrowed flannel shirt, the bad one hooked under his arm.
The older Dixon brother scowled deeply, but said nothing, just held the man up.
"I don't want to carry his ass the whole way," he finally pointed out.
"Something needs to be done," Karen said. "He's not going to just walk out."
The Lieutenant's eyes narrowed at Merle's face an inch from his. "Entraîneur LeBlanc?"
"What? That had better be a compliment, dummy." Merle snarled, half dragging, half leading the soldier in the direction of the door.
As Merle struggled under the Lieutenant and Karen and Michonne worked out a plan of escape, Carol moved to stand beside the old woman, quietly watching as the Lieutenant drifted in and out of conscientiousness.
"I'm amazed you managed to save him," she admitted softly to the woman beside her.
The old woman turned kind brown eyes on her, the softly bronzed wrinkles at the corners of them giving her such a warm look. "Thirty-seven years as an ER nurse, you pick up a lot of tricks."
Carol eyed her suddenly, eyes wide. "What do you know of stomach wounds?"
"Bastard things," she said. "If the stomach acid leaks into the chest cavity, it can most certainly cause serious peritonitis, it's almost always fatal."
Carol drew her mouth in a grim line. "What if it hit the spleen?"
Suddenly there was interest beyond mere conversation in the woman's eyes and she turned to Carol to face her completely. "Someone you know?"
She nodded.
"And they're still alive?"
Again she nodded, her head bowing quickly when she realized that might not be true anymore. "I think so." I hope so.
"Spleen doesn't mean it'll be half as fatal as the actual stomach," the old woman reassured her. "Do you have a capable medic with your people?"
"I trust Herschel, but…yes, we do."
The woman nodded. "I'm sure this Herschel has everything under control." She said, reaching out a trembling hand and gripping Carol's hand with a weak grip.
Carol nodded, a tear escaping from her eye and rolling down her cheek quickly.
"What's the plan, Merle?" Michonne demanded softly as Merle quickly left the room with the Lieutenant, the others following.
"I'm going to haul his ass up over the wall on my back," he replied.
"Not with his broken ribs you're not," Carol objected.
"Hell, the bastard will survive the climb," the man stated. "He survived a pair of fucking scissors to his neck, he'll survive a bumpy ride up a steep incline. Wily coonass luck," he added with a mutter. "Besides," he went on, "this is a better plan than risking our necks strolling out the front gate with this limp dick in our hand."
"Merle," Karen scolded, eyes on her son warily.
The young man blinked stoically, though Carol had the feeling the boy was old enough to get the gist of the man's colourful analogy.
"The boy's eighteen, I'm sure he knows all about hard and limp dicks by now," Merle stated.
This time the young man seemed to animate, cringing almost shyly at the mention of both.
Kicking open the door, Merle stepped out into the rain and grey of the narrow alley between the back of the clinic and the wall, coming face to startled face with a fiery headed young man who appeared to be in the middle of taking a long toke of a rolled cigarette. In the near dark he was lit only by the pallor of his skin against the faint light of the setting sun struggling through the rain.
Everyone froze, the red head letting out a long, slow stream of smoke, eyes wide with panic.
Mrs. Douglas snapped into action, stepping between the group and the boy.
"Stuart McKay, that had better not be one of those grass cigarettes," she began sternly. "I swear to the good Lord your daddy'll tan your ass if he were to find out."
The young man dropped the joint in shock and took a step away from the old woman, in the rain it rolled into a nearby puddle, but continued to smolder.
"Where you got that nasty junk in the first place is beyond me," Mrs. Douglas went on, waving them towards the wall with her hand behind her back. "The world's gone to seed and here you are in a back alley breaking your mama's heart with this nonsense. I'm going to do her a favour and slap you into the spring of next year."
"Are those the terrorists from the prison?" The boy asked.
Mrs. Douglas inhaled deeply, before beginning a long tirade that seemed to cause the young man's spine to shrink down until he was huddled in a two foot heap of shame. When she was finished tearing a strip up one side and down the other of the boy, she finished with a very stern, "now you go on and get out of here before I tell your parents what I caught you doing!"
The young man gave the fleeing group one last, hesitant look, before turning and taking off at breakneck speed.
Mrs. Douglas shook her head and obliterated the rest of the joint under her sneaker, crushing it into the puddle. "Damned hippie kids these days, nothing but potheads and sex fiends."
"Will he—"
"He'll certainly give it serious thought first, after what we just caught him doing," Mrs. Douglas stated. "No decent boy like him would dare tell his parents right away. Besides, he knows if he does that and I'll slap his face so hard it'll do a complete one-eighty on his neck."
"Did I mention what'd I do to you if you were sixty years younger?" Merle asked her with a grin.
"We had this conversation once, I believe it ended with a threat from me," she stated. "Now you make sure you don't drop that poor man."
Merle rolled his eyes as Michonne and Karen helped secure the Lieutenant to his back. "I'm not going to drop him, couldn't hurt him any worse anyways. Might knock some sense into his dumb Cajun ass."
As Merle began to scale the wall, Carol turned to the woman with a small smile. "Thank you for your help," she said. "You've been very kind to us."
The woman angled her head. "Oh, I'm coming with you."
At the other's curious looks, the woman smiled serenely. "Can't stay here now, once they find Noah and the Marine gone, Stuart will eventually talk. Besides," she added, "I understand you have a man down with a gunshot wound feels like something I might be able to help with."
The Cajun Dialect
Entraîneur – Coach
J'ai fait ma meilleure tentative, Ange. – I made my best attempt, Angel.
Je suis désolé. Je suis si désolé. – I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.